A Question of Perfection
by Tierney Lhai
Summary: It has been two months since Christmas, two months since Tessa and Will were engaged to be married. Now, Will has called Tessa to meet him in the room with the grand piano. He is poised to display his skills as a musical prodigy. One shot.


Tessa Gray eyes Will Herondale with her usual curiosity. "What are you up to?"

Will gestures incredulously toward the large percussion instrument at his fingertips. "Oh, nothing, Tess. Your fiancé is simply making musical history, and you," he says, reaching over to poke her in the hip, "are the privileged maiden who shall witness this feat."

Tessa plops down beside Will on the small piano bench, her back to the instrument. "Really, Will? And what – exactly – prompted such a momentous act?"

Will drops his blue eyed gaze to the glossy black and white keys before him. "Jem used to tell me I had the hands to play. I thought I'd give it a shot."

Tessa smiles, endeared by her fiancé's scarce honesty, though something tugs at her heart. _Jem._ It has been months since Jem had departed to the Silent City, since he'd left them all behind. Every time she heard his name, it was like an arrow to her heart. _These are the arrows that murder sleep at every hour in the bitter-cold night._ A frigid moment chafes by, the dark haired boy and the gray eyed girl sitting side by side in silence, both their minds tied to one person – one boy.

Finally, clearing her throat, Tessa breaks the silence. "Well," she begins, nudging her fiancé lightly with her shoulder, "out with it. You promised me – ah, what was it? That I would be the…"

"The privileged maiden who shall witness the makings of a musical prodigy."

Tessa narrows her eyes, setting her chin. "I think the first part sounds familiar. The rest is…" She waves her hand in front of her, shaking her head. "Embellished."

"Oh, my dear Tess, how wrong you will prove to be. Are you now prepared to witness this feat?" His blue eyes are trained on her, his grin as wicked as ever.

Tessa sighs. "Very well."

Will places his fingers on the keys, allowing himself this small moment, this small piece of time to himself and the instrument. He shuts his eyes as he'd seen Jem do so many times before. Then, with a short breath, he sweeps his fingers across the keys in his reach and brings them down in one jerk of his wrists to create…

Tessa yelps in surprise, barely containing herself quick enough to hide the flinch that racks her spine. "By the Angel, Will."

The dark haired boy watches her with dramatic, solemn eyes. "Ah, finally."

Tessa's brows furrow as her gray eyed gaze slides to his. "Finally?"

Will nods, raising his chin in a most superior manner. "Yes. Finally. Finally we have found something Will Herondale is not perfect at."

A laugh escapes Tessa's lips. Will shakes his head at her, at last displaying his _true _feat in that moment – maintaining a serious façade. "Tess, Tess, Tess. Don't you see? I am average now – you may consider myself one of you. Sure, I am devilishly handsome, extremely charismatic, a comedic genius, one of the most talented Shadowhunters to have ever lived, and don't even get me started on my taste – and success – in women." Will taps his Tess beneath her chin and she lets out another short laugh. "Before this moment, and we did make history today, I would have guessed I was an Angel fallen. But now… _now,_ I have proved that I am human (though never mundane) and the people of the world will rejoice!" Will raises his fist in the air, the grand gesture only spurring another round of laughs from Tessa.

"Rejoice?" Tessa manages between chuckles.

"But of course. The people of the world will rejoice that one day – one glorious day – they can hope to find themselves as I, William Herondale, am."

"Oh, by the Angel, Will, I thought this nonsensical narcissism had ended with your curse," Tessa chides, though she is still fighting laughter.

Will shakes his head, setting his jaw in a mock-stern position so as to scold her in return. "This is no narcissism, I assure you, my Tess. It is fact.

"_Indeed, there once was a man who lived in London_

_He had a fiancée and despite his perfection, she loved him_

_ He sat down at piano to display his natural skills_

_ But found out his talent is that which kills_

_ Cats – preferably Church – but he is no longer present_

_ Thus, his fiancée must settle for hearing loss and a lament_

_ Of this tragic news that he is no longer perfect_

_ Whilst he hopes and sings she won't turn to disaffect_

_ And won't die from the pain of his imperfection_

_ But marry him, this moment she will ne'er speak again."_

Arching a dark brow, Will examines Tessa with all the graveness of Charlotte when she is displeased with one. Meanwhile, the girl is dissolving into a heap of giggles against his shoulder, near to tears when he finishes his song.

"Will," she manages between titters.

"Tess," he counters, eyeing her seriously, though the tears in her eyes are cutting holes in his façade. His own lips wobble toward a smile.

"There's one other thing – two, really – that you are less than exceptional at."

"Do go on, my Tess."

She chuckles, reaching up to wipe some tears from her eyes when Will raises his hand to help her. "Well, singing. And making up songs."

"It was impromptu," he says, but now, even he is smiling gently as he traces the tip of his thumb beneath her large gray eye, catching a few stray tears. Finally, he relents. "So maybe I will not be a musical prodigy after all."

Tessa smiles. By now, her tears have ceased falling, her laughs have died off, and all she can do is stare up at her wonderful and beautiful fiancé. "No. But you are perfect, William Herondale. You are perfect for me."

With that, the dark haired boy and the gray eyed girl close the gap between their lips atop the piano bench on that fine winter day. Snow swirls just beyond their reach of sight: around the corner, behind a rugged pane of glass. Beneath that window, stretching out into the day, is London as awake and as alive as ever.

**A Note on the Quotations in this Piece:**

"These are the arrows that murder sleep at every hour in the bitter-cold night" – This quote was taken from _The Song of Crede, Daughter of Guaire_ by Kuno Meyer_._ Unfortunately, I found that it was published in 1905 and therefore a couple decades after this story takes place. Though I knew this, I wanted to include it because I thought it fit beautifully and it's such a Tessa thing as it is such a Will thing to quote works. Thus, it was included with this little oversight. I wanted to come out right away and say that it was not written at that time so that my credibility would not be tarnished. I apologize that this is not technically accurate, however, I felt I needed to include it and so I did. Thank you for reading.


End file.
